


Dalek

by orphan_account



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, I was feeling evil the day I wrote this, I'm Sorry, I'm so sorry, Is it still character death if he's a dalek?, Really I'm sorry, Saddest Wholock ever, tagging it anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 00:53:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the episode "Asylum of the Daleks"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dalek

**Author's Note:**

> I own none of these characters, I don't own Daleks (do daleks count as characters?), I'm sorry for the sadness

His voice rasps, harsh and emotionless, from the speaker grille. Robotic, certainly, but still him. Deafeningly, heartbreakingly him.  
"I am not a machine, John."  
A sob tears from my throat. My vision blurs and I have to turn away. That- that thing, the thing that was once Sherlock, rattles against the chains as it strains towards me. Is he attempting to reach out to me? To comfort me, even? A humourless laugh escapes me. The most human he's ever been is as a machine.  
"It's me," the thing repeats.  
"No, Sherlock. It's not been you for a very long time."  
My heart feels like it's about to burst as I pull out my phone and point the camera towards him. My fingers are shaking almost too much for me to press the button.   
Click.  
The shutter sound is deafening in the silent room. The photograph shows him clearly- a monster in metal casing. I turn the screen towards him, tears streaming down my cheeks.  
"I'm so sorry," I whisper. There is a whirring noise as his single eye focuses on the screen. And then nothing. Silence.  
"I'm sorry, Sherlock, but this is you."  
"No."  
The word is harsh, the machine removing it of all emotion.  
"John. Please, listen to me. We met after Stamford introduced us at St Barts hospital. The first question I asked you was 'Afghanistan or Iraq?'. You are the only person who ever accepted me and you are the only person who I have ever loved, so for God's sake, John, tell me this isn't real!"  
The metallic grating of his speech rises to a pleading scream, shouting at the world because for the first time in his life he does not want to believe his own eyes.   
"I wish I could."  
I step forward and wrap my arms around him, the casing like ice against my skin. The gunstick and plunger wave uselessly in response.  
I'm sorry, I love you, I'll miss you- all these things and more come spilling from my mouth in a long stream, making no sense to anyone.  
"I remember, John. We needed milk. Milk and egg- eggs- ex- ter-"  
I take a deep breath. I know what is coming. The Doctor warned me. But I don't care any more. Maybe if we both die, we'll be together again. I step back from him, the device the Doctor has given me now attatched to the metal that is Sherlock. A red light blinks on top of it. I close my eyes tightly.  
"Exterminate," I whisper, and then the world goes black.


End file.
